Ordinarily, smelling like sawdust, sweat, diesel, and whiskey is a sign of a hell of a good day. I’m not going to lie, like many Southerners, I get pretty excited about a coming storm. It feeds many needs, from my increasingly old-man tendency to obsess over the weather to a love of being well prepared. If that storm delivers and I can justify having several chainsaws and a Jeep? Even better. But I wasn’t prepared for Helene. No one was.